


Top Dog

by ceria



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Butt Plugs, Dominate!Phil, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Facials, Humiliated!Clint, M/M, Spanking, brief Clint Barton/other, brief Clint/Natasha, no discussion of limits, no safe words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:20:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4049434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceria/pseuds/ceria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the initial prompt: 'Clint and Coulson are both alphas. If an alpha steps out of line in the social hierarchy, the senior alpha will hold them down and fuck them to put them back in their place. If a lower-ranking alpha manages to win out and fuck the higher-ranking alpha instead, that increases their status.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago and I'm currently trying to get all my fic in one place, so there's no mention of current AoU or AoS canon. The entire prompt is also [here](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/16524.html?thread=36743052). The warnings are all in the additional tags, please make sure to read them.
> 
> 'Clint and Coulson are both Alphas. Clint ought to be low ranked at SHIELD, but he keeps winning fights with his handlers and fucking them into the floor, which makes him extremely hard to manage. When he gets assigned to Phil, Clint takes one looks at him and thinks he's gonna have an easy fuck on his hands. But when he starts the fight, Phil manages to get the upperhand and fuck Clint instead. Despite this loss, Clint can't help testing his limits, so Coulson keeps having to fight him down and mount him to remind him who's boss.
> 
> I know in reality there'd be a lot of pain involved I this, but I'm not into pain at all, so a focus on Clint feeling humiliated and dominated (instead of in pain) would be awesome.
> 
> Bonus points if Clint gets aroused and/or comes, both of which add to Coulson's victory and Clint's humiliation.'

He ignores the new orders for ten hours. In fact, Clint's relaxing in a bathtub in a SHIELD safe house when the door begins to open silently. Or, what would have been soundless if he hadn't left a brick in the way to screech across the floor. 

He's got an arrow drawn, water and bubbles sloshing everywhere, before Agent Coulson slides through the open door, gun in hand but pointing at the floor.

"I thought we're not leaving until the morning," Clint says, lowering the bow out of deference but not releasing the tension. He steps out of the tub, finding his footing on the slippery floor before shifting his weight. Coulson's put the safety back on but hasn't put the gun away yet.

"You missed the meeting."

"You must not have checked my file, Coulson. I never attend them."

"Then how do I know you've read the material for the op?"

"Because I always read it," Clint says, letting his arms relax. He leans one bare hip against the counter and relaxes a little more. He's heard of Coulson, obviously. As one of Fury's most trusted hands, as a competent Agent, as a good handler, and more importantly, as an Alpha who's never lost to anyone in the six years he's been with SHIELD so far. 

Clint kinda wants to ask Coulson if he's ever fought Fury or not; if Fury's only the Director because Coulson had to get on his hands and knees for him sometime during their career together. Rumor has it that Agent Ganner had once asked and that was the real reason he's now Level Two and an Omega – because both Coulson and Fury took offence to the question and fucked him for two weeks until he dropped to Omega status.

Clint suspects there's a lot of truth to that rumor. 

"Get dressed," Coulson says, sounding bored and even looking unimpressed as he takes in Clint's naked form with a quick once over. "I need to discuss some of the op with you."

It's not deference to listen to a Senior Agent. Hell, Clint's actually dealt with two Level Five's and hadn't challenged them to a fight. Agent Bartow has a great head on her shoulders and listened to her team and Clint expected she'd go far in SHIELD. Not every Senior Agent was a Level Seven or above Alpha. Jasper Sitwell was a Level Six and a Beta. When Clint asked for a new location because he didn't like the one HQ suggested, Sitwell asked for a map and the new spot, looked it over, and quickly agreed with Clint.

Clint doesn't fight smart Handlers at SHIELD – only the obstinate ones who don't listen to reason.

He dresses quickly in the same thing he usually wears during down time, a t-shirt, jeans and his favorite combat boots. "What's on your mind, Coulson?" Clint asks, a towel in his hair to dry it off. Technically he should add 'Agent' or call him Sir, but Clint's drifted by without being technical with rank for years now. It makes a good barometer to see which Agents demand respect and which ones like to earn it. 

"HQ picked out a spot for you and I don't like it. I want your opinion." There's no discussion about how Clint has broken into a(nother) safe house or a reminder to call Coulson by his proper title. Instead, he flips around his laptop and shows a 3D picture of the ledge. "It looks tiny, will there be enough room?"

They discuss room to draw the bow without Clint bumping into a stone wall. "If I can't take it I can climb up a story and use one of the gargoyles. That will give me enough space."

Coulson frowns, flipping the computer around to study the picture. "You'll be exposed," he says but doesn't disagree with Clint's assessment. 

"Anything else?" Clint asks, because it's not in him to _not_ be an asshole. Besides, he's curious about Coulson and wants to ruffle his feathers a little.

Coulson raises one eyebrow at him, then shakes his head no, dismissing Clint as he turns toward the door. It's rare for anyone to turn their back on Clint lately. He's not quite sure how to take it. "Well," Coulson says, glancing over his shoulder, "actually there is. I want you back in the barracks tonight. I have a car outside; I'll give you five minutes to get this back in shape and gather your things." He actually clicks something on his watch before opening the door.

What the hell? Clint is shocked and left standing there, gaping as Coulson walks out. "Really?" he mumbles and does a quick take around the safe house. He hasn't unpacked. He can throw the towel into a garbage bag since it's wet and into his pack. It only takes a moment to wipe away any proof he's been here. He's ready in three minutes but there's the whole alpha attitude he dislikes so Clint sits in the chair and counts in his head. He'll get into the car when Coulson's timer gets to six minutes.

At five minutes, thirty seconds, the front door opens and Coulson locks it behind him, dropping the keys into his suit jacket pocket. Which he removes, along with his shoes, socks and tie. "These are considered safe houses for a reason, Barton. I'm willing to overlook your blatant misuse of them if you obey, but I won't ignore you disobeying a direct order."

Clint leaves his backpack in the chair and removes his own shoes and socks. "Oh, was that a direct order?" This is going to be fucking fun. He could acquiesce, of course. No one is required to fight when approached but Clint's never backed down – or lost – any fight since coming to SHIELD. All he has to do is get on his knees and Coulson won't touch him.

Only one person has done that for Clint. He's fought 16 times so far and won 15 through fucking them into submission. Clint crosses the room and strikes out first.

Within two minutes, he's on the ground, hands zip tied behind his back with his cargo pants around his ankles. Coulson isn't even breathing hard. The body's natural reaction to a forced submission is slick. This is the first time Clint has ever felt his backside wet. Coulson, kneeling on the ground next to Clint's side, gently inserts two fingers and probes, finding the spot inside Clint that's never been touched.

"Oh fuck," Clint moans as he gets instantly hard. Within another minute he's writhing on the ground from Coulson's insistent fingers. There's no pressure to push against since Coulson isn't touching him anywhere else, just his fist against Clint's ass and two fingers inside him.

Clint's moaning like a whore, pushing his hips into the rug to get some relief. Coulson twists his hand and Clint comes with a sharp gasp, come soaking into the carpet beneath him. He turns his head to see Coulson, still fully dressed and not even hard, pulling his fingers out and wiping them off on the back of Clint's t-shirt.

"I said five minutes, Agent Barton. Now we're going to be late for dinner and I was already hungry forty minutes ago, when I had to leave base to track you down."

"Yes, sir," Clint says, face burning with shame – and a little with wonder.

"Get dressed. You can clean up in the barracks." Coulson was going to make Clint slink through the base smelling freshly fucked. The thing is, since Coulson didn't touch him with anything other than his fingers; everyone would know Clint lost a fight but not to whom.

He wasn't sure if that was a little less or a little more embarrassing.

###

He's dismissed as soon as they get back to base. Coulson goes in a totally different direction and Clint… he watches him for too long before shaking his head free of the strange feeling. He gets to his room, passing three Agents who catch his scent and look shocked by it. Clint is snarling with anger and barely dries off from the shower before he hits the gym. 

He has no idea what he smells like but no alpha will go near him. Agent Holmes is a Level Five Beta and doesn't hesitate when Clint steps into the ring with him. The fight lasts twenty minutes before Holmes is on the ground and naked. Clint doesn't try the finger trick since Holmes is begging for his cock. He just ruts into Holmes hard and fast, who is gasping beneath him. 

It's later than expected when he gets back to his room and Clint knows he should shower – again – but he's so damn tired and they have to catch the bus in less than four hours. 

Clint sleeps and even hits the snooze button on his alarm. Just once. He's at the bus on time in full gear. He showered quickly but Coulson narrows his eyes when Clint boards and walks past him. 

He ends up switching to the gargoyle for better aim. He does radio Coulson first to let him know he's moving. Agent Franks is inside, her Navy blue dress clinging to her body in ways that make Clint miss being with a woman. She completes the mission on her own, as planned. Franks is a Beta, Clint doesn't know if she's ever been an Alpha. One of the men talking to her steps inside her personal space, posturing. She laughs and shrugs and walks away. Her back is turned and Clint knows she doesn't see the angry expression the man left behind is wearing. He follows her and Clint is sure the minute she leaves the party, there's going to be trouble. He collapses the bow and doesn't think about protocol as he scales down the building. He hides his gear beneath a loose leather coat and leans against the wall near the exit. Franks sees him, her eyes wide with surprise, and makes her way directly past Clint. The man is still following her. Clint can hear Coulson snarling with agitation as Clint deviates from the plan but he ignores it. The man reaches out to touch Franks, who frowns, grabs his hand and executes a quick and smooth arm wrench on him. She's whispering in his ear and even in the low light from the single street lamp, Clint sees the man blush.

Then they're leaving the scene together and joining Coulson on the bus. She reports, turning over the flash drive and Coulson dismisses her. He turns to Clint. "What was that?"

"You didn't see that man's expression," Clint says. "I wanted to be on the ground so he was aware there was a witness in case of trouble."

"You are not dressed as a local citizen," Coulson snarls. "And you definitely weren't dressed for a black-tie reception. What you did was reckless."

"There wasn't time to wait for permission, Coulson," Clint says and a moment later he's pushed against the wall, Coulson's forearm against his throat.

"That was _my_ call, Barton, not yours. Agent Franks could have stalled inside until I got there. Instead, you made an impression with Mr. Jones, a man who never forgets a face." 

Clint pushes at his arm to respond, annoyed at how easily Coulson got him against the wall. "I made a call, Coulson. I'm sorry if you think it was wrong."

"I don't think it was wrong, Barton. I _know_ it was wrong." He recognizes the look on Coulson's face and shakes his head.

"Oh no, you're not doing that again." Then they're grappling in Coulson's office and once again, Clint ends up zip tied. He's on his knees and Coulson is adjusting his tie, straightening his jacket. Clint can feel his body respond and hell no. He twists and gets to his feet but Coulson is there again, pushing him back to his knees.

"Are you going to stay there?" 

"Fuck no," Clint says and Coulson hauls him up, undoing Clint's pants, then pushes him over his desk. 

"All right then." Clint can hear him unbuckle his belt and pull it loose. There's a knock on the door and Coulson, the bastard, puts his hand on the small of Clint's back as he says, "Come in."

"We're ready to go, Agent Coulson. Shall I tell the pilot to take off?"

Clint wants to melt into the floor. He's still dressed but his pants are undone, he can smell the slick as he prepares himself and Coulson had already taken his belt off. She won't misinterpret the scene. Coulson won – again.

"Yes, please," Coulson says and the door shuts. He pushes Clint's pants and underwear down. Clint is mortified at loosing another fight, and at Agent Franks witnessing it but he's stuck here for now. His body is already prepping to get fucked and he's not going to beg – he's not.

"This is going to sting," Coulson says, his left hand not moving from Clint's lower back. A second later, Clint feels the bite of leather belt against his skin. He tenses, but doesn't cry out.

Nor does he stop producing slick. It's mortifying.

Coulson spanks him ten times, then drops the belt. He runs one fingers through the slick behind Clint. "Look at me," he says and Clint turns his head. Clint watches Coulson suck his fingers clean and whimpers at just how hot it is.

"One of these days, Barton," he says and walks away. Leaving Clint half-dressed, hard and hog tied over his desk.

###

Fury informs him two days later that Agent Coulson has requested Clint for a two-man mission. Clint reads the mission parameters in flight and asks twenty different questions before Coulson gets annoyed. They end up scuffling on the floor and Clint doesn't stop arguing until Coulson has three fingers buried in his ass. Clint is whimpering and shaking but Coulson spends what feels like hours teasing him, fingers barely brushing against his prostate. 

"Do you want to come?" Coulson finally asks.

"Yes," Clint whispers.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir. Please," Clint gasps and Coulson pulls his fingers free, gently turning Clint around to get on his knees between Coulson's legs. He's hard for once and without another word, Coulson undoes his trousers and pushes his underwear out of the way.

Clint doesn't hesitate to lean in, smelling him, he glances up and Coulson nods. Clint's never given a man a blowjob before but hell, it can't be that hard, right? For the first time, he smells Coulson's arousal and it makes his ass clench with need but Clint ignores that for now. He takes a little at first, teasing Coulson, swirling his tongue around the edges, sucking on it, kissing the tip. He takes more in and Coulson sighs with contentment as Clint bobs up and down, hallowing his cheeks and rubbing his tongue against the underside of Coulson's dick.

Coulson doesn't touch him, just tells him when to move faster or suck harder and Clint is dripping down the inside of his thighs from the commands. 

He wants to be fucked. It's the first time he's acknowledged it, but he wants Coulson to fuck him.

He reaches up, intending to massage Coulson's balls but Coulson blocks his hands. "No hands, put them behind your back."

Clint hesitates, glancing up and Coulson smirks at him. "I won't make you swallow."

His expression must show his dismay that he's doing something wrong and Coulson runs his knuckles over Clint's cheek, feeling the tip of his dick against the side of Clint's mouth. "You're amazing, but I know you've never done this before so you don't get to swallow yet."

Clint's jaw is just beginning to hurt when Coulson says, "Stop, Barton." He does, pulling back and Coulson reaches for his dick, squeezing it hard and fast, using Clint's saliva. "Don't move," he says, just before he sighs and comes all over Clint's face.

Clint closes his eyes, sniffing, and reaches out with his tongue to lick a tiny bit into his mouth. Coulson rubs the come into Clint's face, neck, and hair. "Good boy," he says. "Come here," Clint gets to his feet and Coulson maneuvers him to drape over his knees. He doesn't waste a second plunging two fingers into Clint's wet hole while he wiggles in Coulson's lap and rubs hard and fast until Clint can't take anymore and comes, hips and cock pushing into Coulson's leg.

All Clint can think is that no one will mistake what happened this time since Coulson actually came on him.

###

Someone else is in the building with Clint. He's so damn close to completing the mission, he doesn't tell Coulson, who would make him pull back and reassess. Instead, he continues to push the janitor's cart to the eighth floor and uses the stolen keycard to gain access to the records room. Inside is a tiny woman with bright red hair, dressed like a secretary. She startles when she sees Clint and then smiles at him, sliding folded papers into the waistband of her skirt. 

Clint abandons his role and chases her as she jumps on top of the cabinet and swings up into the vent. "The Black Widow has the papers," he whispers, then ignores Coulson's frantic instructions as Clint continues the chase. 

He misses the next four check-ins pursuing her. 

Clint can't catch her but he doesn't actually lose her either. He finally admits defeat and swipes a cell phone to call Coulson who sounds perfectly calm over the phone. 

Clint is going to be in so much trouble.

Through a series of pre-determined codes, they meet at the edge of the city in a small motel. Coulson is already inside, pacing. The moment the door is locked, Coulson pushes him, then pulls Clint against him by the lapels of his stolen jacket, and kisses him.

"You idiot, I was terrified," Coulson whispers and Clint can't decide if he should push now or not.

"Terrified of what?" Clint asked and Coulson shakes his head.

"Terrified that you might actually catch her." Clint is still riding on the high of the four-hour chase against the Black Widow and laughs. Coulson snarls and Clint grins and then they're fighting each other for real. They break two lamps and one chair before Coulson gets Clint naked. 

"Hands and knees on the edge of the bed. _Now_. Face the door." Clint scrambles to comply and Coulson doesn't undress. He leans in and licks Clint's hole. It makes Clint want to howl but he remains silent, afraid to break the mood. Tongue gives way to two fingers and then, with Clint trembling and sweating beneath him, Coulson unzips his pants and pushes gently into Clint's body.

"Oh fuck," he groans and Coulson chuckles.

As soon as he's buried, Coulson says, "Clint. Are you okay? Tell me you're okay."

"Yeah," Clint says and shudders as Coulson moves.

"Say my name," Coulson tells him but Clint can't speak. He's too full, too enraptured with the fact he's actually getting fucked and loving it.

Coulson leans over, chest against Clint's back, arms around him. He reaches for Clint's dick and hell yes. 

It's perfect. He's going to come any second now, he's going to…

The door opens and a woman with bright red hair, dressed in a black cat suit, slips inside. 

No. No. No.

Coulson has a gun in one hand, instantly trained on her where she sits near the door. Clint pushes up to his knees, blocking Coulson's body with his own. Coulson's other hand is wrapped around Clint's dick and holy fuck – how can he hold the gun steady while he's still fucking Clint?

They're both still hard but they slow the pace. Clint is clenching his ass, keeping Coulson thinking about him. The Black Widow eyes them up and down, her glance very appreciative of naked Clint. He can't decide if it's erotic or terrifying.

"You're with SHIELD, yes?" she says and Coulson nods. Clint can't see it but he feels Coulson's face move against the side of his.

"What were you going to do with this information?" she asks and Coulson tilts the gun, very briefly, at a folder on the table next to her.

"That's a Level Two assessment of this mission. Feel free to read it."

"I don't suppose I can read it now, right here," she asks, leering at the two of them.

Coulson's hips twitch and Clint gasps and narrows his eyes. "No," Clint says. "Get out. Come back tomorrow if you want to talk."

She sniggers and nods, slipping back out of the room with the file.

Neither of them move for a long moment, then Coulson pushes Clint back onto hands and knees and thrusts hard and deep inside him.

"Fuck yes," Clint says. "Again."

"Clint," he whispers, leaning closer. He kisses Clint's back and Clint shudders again.

"Phil, please. More." Then they both lose control and are moaning and pushing against each other. Clint comes seconds before Phil, who doesn't pull out right away. He stays inside, pulling Clint back up on his knees, holding him against his chest, both of them twisting around to kiss.

They stay in the same bed, taking turns sleeping watching the door all night. Clint can't remember when he last felt this safe.


	2. Chapter 2

**(six months later)**

Clint knows the moment Phil enters the gym. He doesn't look away from sparring with Nat though – that had happened last time and Clint had lost twenty minutes before he normally did. Phil won't let anyone else fuck Clint – not that Clint has lost a match to anyone besides them – but he'd allowed Clint last time, on his knees, to lick her out until she came twice.

She must have sensed something Clint missed today. She stepped back, raising both of her hands and only then did Clint look at Phil. "What's wrong, Coulson?" he asked. Their handler was furious, though it only showed in the narrowing of his eyes.

"Agent Smith," he said just as the door opened and the Level Six Agent and Alpha came through, waving a file at Phil.

"What is the meaning of this? I'm better than this mission. Fury said he was going to assign me…"

"Director Fury actually said," Coulson interrupted, "that the discretion of mission was mine, Agent Smith."

"I'm not accepting this," Smith complains and Coulson sighs.

"Barton? You want this one?"

"No way am I wasting my time on your Omega, Coulson. I want Alpha against Alpha."

"I'll tell you what," Natasha says, flipping out of the ring to stand beside Phil. "If you beat Coulson's Omega, I'll let you go up against me."

Smith glances at Clint, who had dropped to the mat to sit, body covered with sweat and already breathing heavy. He grins. "I'll take that, and after I fuck Barton, I'll let you blow me, Widow."

Coulson actually smiles wide enough to show teeth at that amusing statement.

Clint takes a deep breath, centers himself, and stands up. "Let's go then, Smith. If you win, you get to pick which mission you want."

"And fuck you," Smith says with a leer.

Clint only laughs, using it to disguise the shudder as Phil hits the button in his suit jacket, making the butt plug vibrate one more time. The bastard. Clint grins at him. He is looking forward to taking Smith down a peg or three. Not that he would fuck him – he doesn't do that anymore - but Coulson taught him this interesting thing the first time Clint had lost to him and he is looking forward to making Smith embarrass himself and come only from Clint's fingers.

The vibrator goes off again and Clint can't stop his low groan of appreciation. As soon as Smith is gone, he's going to get filled up even further. "Today is such a great day," Clint says, glancing at Phil and Natasha as he falls into a fighting stance, denying the tired appearance from moments ago.

(It only takes five minutes to take Smith down. And another two to have him howling in embarrassment as he comes just from Clint's fingers. Phil takes Clint next, right then and there, before Smith had time to gather up his clothes and flee. It really is a good day.)

 

**(short bonus scene post the BoNY.)**

 

"You are not cleared for duty, soldier," Director Fury tells Clint. Who ignores him, of course, and continues to stand at rest parade in his office. He'd barged in a minute ago, past security and determined underlings, to have a minute of Nick's time. He was on the phone, the speaker button was lit, but there was no conversation going on.

"I want his body," Clint tells him and Fury only raises an eyebrow. "I want Phil's body, Nick." This conversation isn't about rank or SHIELD and they both know it.

"Agent Coulson died in the line of duty, son. You know that."

Clint wants to lean across the desk and shake Fury until he gives in. Fury has never lost a fight and Clint had promised Phil, in their dark bedroom late at night years ago, that no one else would ever touch him without Phil's prior consent. Nick definitely does not have that.

But Clint also doesn't give a shit – desperation does strange things. "Phil Coulson is not dead. If you want me to believe that, then give me his body."

"Prove it," Nick says, leaning back in his chair with fingers interlaced behind his head. He's grinning and Clint suddenly wants to kill him. He didn't bring his bow on purpose, but his fingers twitch closer to the knife strapped against his thigh.

"I know he's alive, which means he's hurting and he needs me."

"What, you got a psychic connection that I don't know about?"

"Prove he's dead and I'll leave you alone," Clint counters. Nick queues up the video with the flick of a button and Clint rolls his eyes. "I've seen that plenty of times. Yes, he's bleeding out and yes he looks dead. But resuscitation is a thing, man. I'm not stupid. Give me his body."

"Insubordination hasn't been your thing for a long time, Barton. You need a new trainer?"

"Nope," Clint says with a grin. "I belong to Phil until we decide we're done."

"He's dead, pretty sure you're done now," Nick says and Clint doesn't wince. He won't admit how he knows Phil is alive, not to Nick or Natasha or anyone, until he sees Phil himself and they agree. 

"You beat me and I'll give up his body."

"And if I lose?"

"Then you let me fuck you and maybe I'll give you his body."

He hates not having a choice, but he'll do almost anything to find Phil. They meet in the gym twenty minutes later – it's enough time to find Nat and tell her what he agreed to do and for her to yell at him. But this isn't her fight, it's Clint's. 

"I have never understood you two," she says and Clint rolls his eyes. 

"He's mine and I'm his, there's nothing else to understand."

"He's dead, Clint. You're clinging to illusion."

"I can't believe that until I see his body, Nat."

 

The fight is bloody and brutal and Clint, thanks to sparring with Natasha over the years, almost wins it an hour after it starts. He's nursing a twisted ankle, a black eye and probably a fracture in his right forearm but he doesn't care. Fury isn't in any better shape and definitely has one broken bone – if not two.

The minute Fury defeats him, Clint falls to his knees and acknowledges he's lost. Natasha and a few other Level Seven agents are present which forces Fury to follow protocol since Clint capitulated, and let him lose without touching him. Clint wants to think that Fury wouldn't fuck Clint if there hadn't been witnesses, but he doesn't dwell on it. 

Fury stares at him for too long, both of them breathing heavy and trying to ignore the pain that is suddenly taking over now that the adrenaline is fading. "I'm sorry for your loss," Fury says. 

Clint can't speak, he's too angry. He takes a deep breath that _hurts_ and closes his eyes. He doesn't move until he's alone in the gym. When he stands, something crinkles like paper in his pocket. Clint doesn't smile or pull it free. He waits until he's alone in his and Phil's home. 

Only then does he read it and memorize the name and address. Thank god Nick isn't around else Clint might kiss _him_ he's so grateful for the information. He grabs a shower and packs a few necessary items in a backpack and gets on his bike. With a little luck, he can make it there by nightfall.


End file.
